It Was Our Day
by Liams Kitten
Summary: Several days before Spot and Racetrack's anniversary, disaster strikes. A songfic. Rated for death and slash (bad summary) Please review!


A/N: If you're looking for something funny, this is definitely not the fic for you. My Specs!Muse (a.k.a. my angsty!muse) made me do it, he was interfering with the writing of my other story so I had to do SOMETHING to make him go away. It's a modern day songfic, somebody dies, if you have a problem too bad. I found this fic very sad, and I'm the one who wrote it so...  
  
Wow, I didn't scare you away? Oh well, read and enjoy.  
  
Oh, and, they have accents cause this takes place in NYC  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
~It Was Our Day~  
  
Racetrack was in his room, painting a picture. In a couple of days it would be his and Spot's year-anniversary. He was working on the present he planned on giving him. There was a knock on his bedroom door.  
  
"Comin'!" he called, dipping his paintbrush into the green paint for a bush. He heard the door open. Next thing he knew, there were hands over his eyes and his neck was being savagely kissed.  
  
"Hey! Yous ain't supposed ta be hea!"  
  
Spot spun Race around. "Nice greeting ta give ya boyfriend, Tony," he said, kissing him on the nose in between words.  
  
"But now yous is gonna see ya present!"  
  
"Is dis it?" Spot let go of his love and inspected the painting.  
  
"Yeah. I wanted it ta be a surprise." Race stood behind Spot and put his arms around his neck. "Do ya like it?"  
  
Spot turned and smiled at Race. "I love it," he said. He pulled Race into a kiss. They fought to get their tongue farther down the others' throat.  
  
Race fell back onto his bed. Spot began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his chest and running his hands down Race's body.  
  
"I love yous so much, Spot," Race whispered.  
  
"I know, Spot said, nibbling on his ear. "I know."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Spot woke up to feel Race's body warmth under his. He smiled and kissed Race's forehead. "Mornin', sleepy."  
  
Race moaned and rubbed his eyes. "So early?"  
  
"It's 7:45. I got woik in half an hour," he said, moving to pick his shirt up.  
  
Race held him back. "Don' go. Stay hea."  
  
"I gotta, Race. I need the money." He broke free of Race's grip and picked his clothes up off the floor.  
  
Racetrack pouted and crossed his arms. "Ya no fun," he said in a very childish voice.  
  
"Anthony Higgins, this ain't the time," Spot said, struggling to pull his shirt on. Racetrack grabbed Spot's pants.  
  
"Can't go ta woik widout ya pants," he cackled, standing on the bed, holding the pants out of Spot's reach.  
  
"Hey, cut dat out," Spot said, trying to grab his pants.  
  
"Ooo, SOMEbody woke up on da wrong side a da bridge dis mornin'."  
  
"Racetrack, stop it," he said desperately.  
  
"Promise yous won't go to woik taday."  
  
"HIGGINS GIMME MY FUCKING PANTS!"  
  
He held the pants out to Spot, the smile quickly leaving his face. Spot grabbed the pants, pulled them on, stuffed his feet into his shoes, and stormed out.  
  
Race and Spot immediately felt bad for their actions, but neither made any move to apologize to the other. They each assumed the other would forgive them later.  
  
Needing to vent his anger and sorry feelings, Racetrack picked up his harmonica, sat on the edge of his bed, and began to play.  
  
~Eight o' clock on the morning that you left  
That day was dark, I sat in my room~  
  
He let his feelings out through the harmonica's sorrowful-sounding notes. He was oblivious to the world around him. Even when the ambulance's siren wailed through the silent morning, he paid no attention. He just kept on playing. He disregarded his phone and just let it ring.  
  
Someone knocked on the door. Racetrack ignored it, blowing into his little instrument. The door opened. He closed his eyes and said, "Whaddya want?"  
  
"Racetrack?" The voice belonged to Mush. "Race, I gotta tell yous sometin'. It's real important."  
  
When he opened his eyes, he immediately knew something was wrong. Mush and Kid-Blink were standing in his room. Mush kept wringing his hands, his eyes very teary. Blink had an arm around Mush to try and soothe him, but looked ready to start crying himself.  
  
"Wat's wrong?" Race said urgently. Both seemed reluctant to talk. "Wat happened?"  
  
"It's Spot."  
  
Race's body tensed. "Did somethin' happen to him? Is he aright? Where is he?"  
  
"He got into a car accident," Blink said gently.  
  
"IS HE OKAY?!"  
  
A small sob escaped Mush's lips. Softly, Blink said, "I'm sorry, Race."  
  
~They walked in and told me that you'd gone  
That moment on, I knew you'd be our angel  
Knew you'd be our angel~  
  
That day was hell for Racetrack. He ran out of the room, refusing to believe Spot was actually dead. Blink moved to follow, but Mush held him back. "Let him go," he said quietly.  
  
Racetrack followed the sound of the ambulance's wail. He ran down the block until he reached the accident scene. There was no mistaking Spot's dark blue sportscar with the license plate saying 'ASSHOLE', even in its current state of being halfway through a fence with a white minivan coming out of its side.  
  
Race ran up to a paramedic. "Wat happened to da people dat was hea?" he asked frantically.  
  
The paramedic asked, "Did you know them?"  
  
"I DO know Spot. He's my goddamn boyfriend!"  
  
The man shook his head sadly. "The family in the white van were sent to the hospital, but they didn't make it."  
  
"I didn't ASK about THEM! To hell with them! WHERE'S SPOT?"  
  
"He-he died on impact." Race let out a howl like a wounded animal. "I'm sorry, son."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He still couldn't accept the fact that Spot was gone. He'd just been so...so ALIVE a little over an hour ago.  
  
The shadows on the ceiling mocked him. They danced around, forming Spot's face, his hands, his body...  
  
Racetrack sat up, vigorously rubbing away the tears running down his face. His eyes fell on the unfinished painting in the middle of the room. He slowly crossed over to it and stared at it. The light colors and happy mood of the painting seemed to be mocking him.  
  
He picked up a tube of paint, ready to squirt it all over and ruin the picture, but changed his mind. Spot had liked the painting. He wouldn't want Race to ruin it.  
  
~That day I spent was the hardest day ever  
Trying to paint a picture for you~  
  
He squeezed some paints onto a pallet, dipped his brush into a color, and lifted it to the canvas' surface. His arm hovered just over the painting. Something that usually came so easy to him now seemed harder than anything else he'd had to do. The picture blurred as the tears came again. He let the pallet drop to the floor as he picked up the painting and hurled it across the room.  
  
~Before my eyes, there were so many colors  
Just for today, they all seem blue~  
  
Racetrack sat down on a bench outside, smoking his cigar. He couldn't get Spot's face out of his mind. Those crystal blue eyes were haunting his thoughts, those full, pouty lips clouding his vision. He had given up on trying to stop the rivers flowing from his eyes. It hurt in his heart, knowing he would never see Spot alive again, never hear his voice. Knowing the last time they'd spoken, they'd gotten angry at each other.  
  
~Heaven, heaven was calling you  
Heaven, heaven needed you~  
  
The funeral service was held on the day of Spot and Race's anniversary. Spot's parents had decided to have the wake as part of the service. Racetrack entered the church and sat in the last row. He looked at Spot's open casket. He seemed so small, so lonely. Much too young to die.  
  
~We'll join our hands again someday  
And trade kisses before night  
And talk of the times we had~  
  
Racetrack walked up to the open casket and knelt in front of it. He placed his hands over Spot's and said a short prayer. He leaned over Spot and, ignoring the death glares he was undoubtedly receiving from Spot's parents, kissed him on the lips, whispering, "I love yous so much."  
  
~We'll be together oh someday  
And watch over the stars at night  
And laugh at the fun we had  
  
It was our day  
Oh yeah~  
  
Racetrack drove along behind the funeral procession to the cemetery. He parked his car by the limousine that the family had taken to get there. He walked to where Spot's casket lay, waiting to be buried. Someone handed Race a rose to put on the casket once the final blessings were made.  
  
As the blessings were said, Racetrack looked at who else was there to say goodbye to Spot. Spot's mother was sobbing hysterically into her husband's arms. Mush and Blink were holding each other as tightly as possible, as though afraid of what would happen if they let go. Jack, David, Sarah, Boots, Specs and Dutchy were also there. Some of them looked more upset than others, depending on how close they were with Spot. Dutchy looked downright shocked, not having expected someone his age to die. Racetrack regarded his surroundings the same way a good poker game would regard a game: expressionless.  
  
The priest said the final blessing. The crowd moved forward to pay their final respects and say their last goodbyes. Racetrack stood back, allowing the rest to go before him. He didn't want to be rushed in saying his final farewell.  
  
The crowd slowly thinned. No one was standing at the casket, yet all of Spot's friends still had their roses. They were watching Race expectantly. He felt a surge of gratitude swell in his heart.  
  
He made his way to the casket, feeling tears well up in his eyes against his will. He stared at the casket, hundreds of emotions coursing through his body. He whispered, "Wait for me," kissed his rose, and laid it gently on top of the others. He stepped back and bowed his head, the tears rolling down his cheeks.  
  
The rest of his friends stepped forward, arranging their roses carefully so they formed a circle around Race's.  
  
~I'll lay a rose beside you forever  
And light a candle to remind me of you~  
  
He headed back to his car, feeling worse than he had all week.  
  
"Anthony."  
  
Race turned around to see Spot's mother walking toward him. He sighed in annoyance. "Wat is it?"  
  
She frowned. "I know my husband and I were never exactly supportive of your relationship with our son."  
  
He snorted derisively. "You can say dat again." Stupid homophobes.  
  
"I want to apologize for that." Racetrack's mouth hung open. She continued, "We never thought our son could be gay. But, when he met you and told us he loved you...." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I know today was supposed to be your anniversary." She pulled a small wooden box out of her bag. "He wanted to give this to you- well, one of them- today. The other two would've been for later on."  
  
Racetrack accepted the box. He opened it and let out a little gasp. Astonished pleasure filled his eyes.  
  
Inside were three rings. The one in the middle was silver with a pattern of dice and cards on the outside. The other two rings were white gold. Racetrack picked one up. On the inside, the words 'Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins-Conlon' were engraved. The other one said 'Shawn "Spot" Conlon-Higgins'. Both also had the year of their first date across from the name.  
  
Racetrack's mouth was hanging open. He looked up from the rings into Spot's mom's face. She was smiling sadly. Race opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to think of what to say. No words were necessary though. In one great rush of emotion, Race embraced Spot's mother, enveloping her in a huge hug. They sobbed together.  
  
"I want him back," Race wailed, clinging to her.  
  
"I know," she said, rubbing his back. "I'm so sorry, Anthony."  
  
~Here in my heart  
You'll be on my journey  
Wherever I go  
Whatever I do  
  
Heaven, heaven was calling you  
Heaven, heaven needed you~  
  
It had been almost a year since Spot's death. Racetrack had his engagement ring and the ring with Spot's name on his left ring finger, and the ring that Spot would've worn if they'd gotten married on a chain around his neck. He'd stopped smoking lately, finding cigars no longer comforted him the way they used to.  
  
He was cleaning his room when he came across the painting he was working on about a year ago. He stared at it, one hand fingering the ring on his chain. He set up his easel and put the painting on it. He squeezed paints onto his pallet. Chewing on the end of his paintbrush, he thought about Spot and let his emotions help him finish the painting.  
  
~We'll join our hands again someday  
And trade kisses before night  
And talk of the times we've had~  
  
Racetrack made his way to Spot's grave. He stood before the tombstone, the painting in his hand. It was finally finished. He tenderly laid the painting against the headstone, blew a kiss towards the sky, and trudged back home.  
  
The painting was more subdued than it originally was, the colors creating a sense of sorrow. The painting was of Spot and Racetrack sitting on a bench in Central Park, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. The painting was dated at the top with the day of their first date. Underneath was the name of the painting, 'Our Day', and the day of Spot's death was under that.  
  
~We'll be together oh someday  
And watch over the stars at night  
And laugh at the fun we had~  
  
Race looked out his window at the stars, holding Spot's ring in his hand. He was crying as he watched a comet cross the night sky. "I love yous," he whispered into the wind.  
  
~It was our day  
Our Day~  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Okay, review please, even if it's to tell me you hated it  
  
Spot!Muse: You killed me.  
  
LK: I know that, Spot.  
  
Spot!Muse: I'M GONNA KILL YOUS!!!  
  
LK: You can't, stupid. Besides, Specs made me do it. Kill him if you wanna kill someone so bad.  
  
Spot!Muse: SPECS!!!!!!!!  
  
Dutchy!Muse: I'M TARZAN!!!!!!!  
  
::crashes into a wall::  
  
Race!Muse: More like George of the Jungle...  
  
D!Muse: George, George, George of the Jungle  
  
LK: Now you got him started  
  
D!Muse: Marshmallows? No, I had no marshmallows...  
  
LK: Alright, who gave Dutcholala the marshmallows?  
  
::All muses point to Spot who smiles and waves::  
  
LK:SPOT!!!  
  
Spot!Muse: Well, yous killed me  
  
LK: My god, you're a psycho  
  
So, the point of that was nothing, review, I don't mind flames so long as they amuse me...Sorry I killed Spot, I had to. And, depending on the response I get from this, the state of my muses, and the amount of free time I have, I may or may not write the same idea set in their time  
  
Spot!Muse: You're gonna kill me AGAIN?!?!  
  
Much love,  
  
~Liams Kitten~ 


End file.
